Lucien Arvayne turned seven beneath a chandelier made of crystal and quiet judgment.
The grand hall of House Arvayne shimmered with noble colors—deep blues, silver trims, sigils embroidered with mana-thread so fine it hummed faintly in the air. Long tables stretched like disciplined soldiers, laden with food that existed more for symbolism than appetite.
This was not a birthday.
This was an evaluation.
Lucien stood beside his family, small hands clasped in front of him, shoulders slightly hunched. His ceremonial noble attire fit him perfectly—too perfectly—tailored to enhance fragility rather than pride.
He looked like what everyone expected.
Harmless.Soft.Irrelevant.
Nobles filled the hall.
Counts.Viscounts.Bloodline elders.Observers from allied houses.
Every smile was measured. Every compliment hollow.
Lucien felt their gazes slide over him like rain over stone.
Good, he thought calmly. Ignore me.
At the center of the hall stood the Bloodline Altar—a circular platform etched with ancient runes, its surface glowing faintly with a pale, judgmental light. It was said the altar did not lie.
Lucien had already accounted for that.
One by one, children of the Arvayne bloodline stepped forward.
Cassian went first.
He placed his palm on the altar without hesitation.
The runes flared bright crimson.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"High compatibility!""Pure lineage!""A future pillar!"
Cassian stood tall, basking openly.
Darius followed.
His result burned a sharp, controlled blue.
"Exceptional mana efficiency.""A tactician's blood.""Dangerous potential."
Darius bowed slightly, eyes flicking once toward Lucien.
Dismissive.
Then—
"Lucien Arvayne," the herald announced.
The room quieted.
Not in anticipation.
In courtesy.
Lucien stepped forward slowly.
He tripped once—just slightly—catching himself with a startled gasp.
A few nobles chuckled.
He flushed red.
Perfect.
Lucien placed his small palm on the altar.
The stone pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A weak, flickering glow appeared. Pale. Unstable. Almost embarrassed to exist.
Silence.
Then murmurs.
"…Is that all?""Such diluted blood…""A shameful deviation.""The Count's youngest, yes? Unfortunate."
The glow faded quickly, as if exhausted.
The verdict was clear.
Low mana affinity.No bloodline resonance.Negligible potential.
Lucien pulled his hand back as if burned.
His lips trembled.
"I–I'm sorry…" he whispered, eyes glossy.
Lady Evelyne's expression didn't change—but her fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair.
Count Alaric said nothing.
Which was worse.
Lucien bowed deeply, too deeply, shoulders shaking.
He fled the platform under a wave of polite disinterest.
Behind him, the nobles had already moved on.
That night, the estate slept uneasily.
Lucien did not.
He sat alone in his room, knees drawn to his chest, moonlight spilling across the floor like spilled milk.
He had cried earlier.
Loudly.
Convincingly.
Enough that servants believed he had finally broken.
Now, his face was dry.
His eyes were cold.
Assessment complete, he thought. Public perception secured.
He rose from his bed and locked the door.
Not with a key.
With a chair.
Symbolic.
Lucien sat cross-legged on the floor, straightening his back.
He inhaled.
Slow.
Controlled.
Then—
He turned inward.
The world fell away.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Lucien's consciousness plunged into a vast, colorless space.
No ground.
No sky.
Just presence.
The symbol from his dreams flared into existence before him—sharp lines, impossible geometry, rotating slowly as if acknowledging him.
Then—
—RESONANCE CONFIRMED——CENTRAL CONSCIOUSNESS IDENTIFIED——AUTHORITY FRAGMENT SYNCHRONIZED—
Lucien did not react.
He listened.
Information poured in—not as words, but understanding.
Avatar Dominion.
Not a blessing.
Not a spell.
A function.
A broken fragment of Astraeon's control framework—something older than gods, older than destiny systems.
It did not grant power.
It granted structure.
Lucien understood instantly.
He was not meant to grow strong alone.
He was meant to divide.
Avatar Dominion:A sovereign authority allowing the creation of autonomous vessels—Avatars—each carrying a shard of Lucien's soul and consciousness.
Different bodies.Different growth paths.Different roles.
Yet—
All connected.
All subordinate to a central will.
His.
Warnings surfaced immediately.
—SOUL INTEGRITY RISK——AVATAR DEATH = PERMANENT DAMAGE——MULTIPLE AVATARS MAY CAUSE PSYCHIC FRACTURE——INDEPENDENT WILL DEVELOPMENT: POSSIBLE—
Lucien absorbed it all.
Calculated.
Accepted.
Reasonable cost.
The system waited.
For a command.
Lucien's inner voice was calm.
Create one.
Reality screamed.
Pain exploded across his consciousness like shattered glass driven into every thought.
Lucien's body convulsed in the physical world, back arching violently as blood burst from his nose and mouth. His vision fractured—white, black, red, nothing.
It felt like his soul was being peeled.
Not torn.
Separated.
Every instinct screamed to stop.
To abort.
To survive.
Lucien bit down hard on his lip, teeth cutting flesh.
No.
The pain intensified.
He felt something leave him.
Not fully.
Incomplete.
Malformed.
A presence formed within the void—humanoid, yet unfinished, its outline flickering.
An Avatar.
Incomplete.
Weak.
Barely stable.
The system screamed warnings.
—ERROR——AVATAR FORMATION: UNSTABLE——SOUL BLEED DETECTED—
Lucien's heart hammered erratically. His lungs burned. Tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes—not from emotion, but neurological overload.
This was pain beyond torture.
Beyond death.
Beyond anything he had ever endured.
And Lucien—
Laughed.
A broken, breathless sound escaped his throat as he collapsed onto the floor.
Blood stained the carpet.
His hands shook violently.
But his eyes—
His eyes shone.
The incomplete Avatar hovered in the void, bound to him by threads of thought and agony.
Lucien reached toward it mentally.
It responded.
Barely.
Enough.
The pain began to recede, leaving behind exhaustion so deep it felt like drowning.
Lucien lay on the floor, chest rising and falling unevenly, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes.
His lips curved upward.
A small smile.
Honest.
"Worth it."
The candle in his room flickered violently—then steadied.
Outside, the estate slept on, unaware.
They believed the weakest Arvayne had been revealed.
They believed the verdict final.
Lucien Arvayne closed his eyes, consciousness sinking into darkness once more.
The first piece had been placed.
The game had truly begun.